Hear Me Out II
by greysnyper
Summary: The sun has set. It's to be over, yet...


It's apparent like vanilla ice cream belonging to rainy days. Red lipstick and the absence of skirts. It's a feeling tucked away but indulged, fed and bred each day.

Tim Drake doesn't like feeling anything, but he does.

There's a sensation of mixed peace, or pieces jagged. Raven is not sure as to which, but it lasts as a losing rage, dulling down but never dying. It's needy and devours the security of rational senses. Tim's logic, eroded.

In that still silence of their greeting, of her return, Raven knows of what Tim's done. She cannot bring herself to ask how Tim could have dared, or even thought it would work.

The ache permeates even the air, though no one else stands aware. From half the world away, Raven realizes that it's possible that she has touched these very feelings once or twice while dreaming.

Tim's teeth flash, white like his eyes. Green gloves take Raven's hand and shakes it warmly and the acting is very good. "With all the new members, I still have to say that I've missed you."

"You've been missed too, Timothy," Raven nods, leaning in close while Cyborg pushes the door open behind her with racket to counter her silence. In a lower voice, she murmurs, "and not just by myself."

The snap of Tim's head is reassuring. The elusive warning Tim is taking into consideration, a million thoughts and possibilities--both dangerous and mundane--are distracting for the boy.

Raven's lips say, 'I'll tell you later,' and then it is time to shy past the boy in the casual red shirt. There are other members Raven has yet to learn about, and she requires time for Timothy. She requires thought and delicate risks.

♠

He trains. He sends a few emails out, ticking away on his laptop while sunning in the window. The sun goes down behind him and several other Titans as Robin watches a movie with them. He trains some more and it's different than the practices alone that he used to take, over a year ago. More concentration, and less. He talks about computers while making a sandwich in the kitchen with Cyborg, and his eyes linger for a meaningful moment over the doorway to the lower levels. He says nothing about them, nor does he descend. It is after lights-out and twenty-past-midnight when Raven finally finds him where she's waiting.

The water of the pool is like glass, untouched by bodies for many hours already. The dim glow from above--where the moon is frail and thin and the stars are winking dully against the city glare--makes everything a world of shadows. Raven is comfortable, and she is glad that Robin has been bred specifically for such places.

"I didn't expect to find you, well, here," Robin lies, entering and coyly "finding" her. The surprise isn't in him, so Raven nods and continues appreciating the tang of chlorine. "You wanted to talk?"

"I can do something for you, Timothy."

The pause is cautious as the boy reminds himself that he doesn't trust easily and that favours do not come for free. Raven feels her own guilt.

"I don't follow," Robin decides to say. "I don't _need_ anything, to the best of my knowledge."

Raven sighs, remaining cross-legged against the wall. The tiles don't carry the sound of her voice, as it echoes with his. "You know that this is not true."

Robin hangs in the moment, shifting to cross his arms and to show annoyance. And then, he stops.

There isn't a whoosh, so much as it is imagined by the boy. In the dark room with the dark secrets, something darker moves from underneath the water. The body below intangible, so the waters don't stir. The shape is deceivingly recognizable.

It's saddening, how suddenly the stance of Robin changes. An animal, threatened. "What is this?" he snaps, voice still hushed though harsh. "Raven?"

"This is what you're lacking," Raven concedes, not moving. "You need to learn to let go. Do you know why I chose to have us meet here?"

Tense but now uncertain--the worst kind of feeling--Robin shakes his head and guesses. Behind the words, Raven recalls a memory of a child. "Because I'd watch him swim here?"

She almost nods, but says instead, "because water is tied to passages, and sometimes people will take journeys that cannot be repeated, or followed, or found."

"They can come back," challenges Robin.

Raven fails to recognize herself wincing. "Sometimes, but there are also journeys we need to accept, too. That we cannot help but take."

"He's..." Robin starts, shaking his head as if clearing it of ghosts or damaged thoughts. "You don't understand."

"No," Raven admits. "I don't. But behind you, he does."

Robin doesn't turn, but waits. The darkness hides him like his mask, but the emotions are obvious, like bitter wine forced down Raven's throat with the sole intention of forgetting the taste. She droops her head as the image gains life.

"Tim?"

"Conner, you're dead."

"Oh, now you can admit it."

"No, it's...why are you here?"

"Because you need me to be."

"No, this isn't..."

The laugh Raven has heard a thousand times. Better times. "Tim, you're such a case. You want this, and yet you can't accept this. And then you'll hate yourself for denying this. Pick something, anything, and live with it."

"You know I can't--it's...not easy."

"Nothing is, but man, seriously. Let go."

"I can't."

"No, you must. You're killing yourself and everyone knows it. They may not see it, but they know. This wasn't your fault."

"I can't bring you back."

"Exactly. You can't. Stop destroying everything as you keep trying."

"But--"

"Tim, I only get to play ghost one time. Let me have my rant, 'kay? I don't feel bad. I gave it my best shot, and I got shot down. It wasn't a bad way to go, though. And I had friends like you, and...well, I can't regret that. I don't. You're the smart one, so it's breaking my mind to see you tripping over this mortality thing. You're not moving on, living _your_ life, and it's hurting me and everyone else you know. Time over here is really, nonexistent. Before I know it, you'll probably be here unless you do something stupid like making yourself immortal. That's just our luck, though, isn't it?"

"You're...I..."

"You don't know what to say."

"No."

"Then don't say anything. You can sit at my memorial and be silent like I remember you, if you want. No more apologizing for your daily mistakes or telling my statue that you're ashamed for having nothing new to say. Hell, even just you being...you, helps. I'll know. But how you are now, you're not you. And you're miserable. And I didn't save God knows how many existences just so you could out-sulk Batman."

"I miss you."

"And now you're being honest. Keep that up, Tim. I rest easier when you do at night, or day, or whenever you do those weird meditation naps. You won't have anymore bad dreams."

"Would you do it all again?"

"Twice, if they'd let me. Now go start your life again, without the regrets."

"I'll try."

"The Tim I know doesn't try, Rob. And for the record, I completely smashed you at table tennis that December night."

The answering sob is a choked-on laugh. "You're such a liar, Kon."

"Ghosts can't lie, Tim. Wish I could tell you how I'll see you next week. Keep it real."

"God, please..."

"You've only got one life, Tim. The hardest lesson is letting go."

"Don't want to."

"You do, Tim. Just let it all out, and it will go away. Pick up and start forward."

"Conner--"

"I know, Tim. I already know. Goodbye."

The pool is empty of anything or one, beyond Tim. Raven crouches against the door outside, feeling more of the moods now. The shattered resolve that's fallen in pieces easy to pick up, unlike their jagged and dangerous counterparts. Raven can almost feel Robin's knees dropping against the tiles, the sensations ethereal to the boy as he shakes out his sounds and tries to root himself into something real.

He has been holding out and falling in for too long.

"I'm sorry," Raven whispers, biting her lower lip in reaction to the uncontained flood. "I shouldn't have. I know I shouldn't have, and Conner, I don't know if you'd agree."

The lies about water being a conduit, though all the words fed to Tim couldn't have been possible without some shade of the truth.

Raven wonders if she could take her own advice about living without regrets, but does not know if she feels bad about the manipulation, as needed as it was.

She chooses her justification and does not feast on the beauty from Tim's breakdown. Instead, she goes to bed and has the nightmares _for_ the boy, Tim sleeping soundly for the first time in months--all spirits in the tower, exhausted.

♠

_i join the queue on your answerphone & all i am is holding breath - just pick up i know you're there - can't you hear i'm not myself - well go ahead & lie to me - you could say anything - small talk will be just fine - your voice is everything - we owe it to love & it all depends on you_

i'm not over you yet

[**Edit:** cheesy slip-in

Robin has Cyborg's right arm and is trying to find where he had put down the communication chip that the elder Titan had allowed him to install when a piece of conversation filters into Robin's earshot.

"You want me to teach you how to play table tennis?"

It's Kid Devil and he's scoffing at Rose, who has drawn her boots up onto the couch. Robin fights back the urge to chastise her for breaking the "no footware on sofa" rule. He believes she's probably waiting for that, purposefully. Robin doesn't feel like playing along, and makes it so he doesn't notice.

"You won't play me at tennis since I'll brutalize you," Rose points out. "And I think I heard somewhere that there's a Titan tournament in January, after the New Year."

"A table tennis tournament?" the red Titan asks. "No way. Robin?"

He's stopped, Robin feeling like he's lost something more important than a small chip. He recalls training and the sound of the ping pong ball. He remembers how close he watched the ball to make sure his opponent didn't cheat with "mind powers". He knows his mouth goes dry.

"Kid," Robin asks, frowning. "Weird question to ask you."

"If you answer mine, sure," Kid Devil says, craning his neck over the end of the sofa and staring at Tim upside-down-like.

"There used to be," Robin shrugs, failing to put much care or devotion into his answer. "We brought in past members and there used to be a trophy. After the Crisis that died out. Um, that good?"

"We're totally starting that tradition up again," Rose grins. "Though, I may sound biased since I'm totally going to own that title."

"You don't even know how to play yet," scoffs Kid Devil. "And yes, we'll totally restart that. Robin, your question?"

"Right," nods the Boy Wonder, shifting Cyborg's limb to his other arm. "Do you know if ghosts are allowed to lie?"

Kid Devil blinks and scrunches his face. "I think they lie all the freaking time," he says. "Or, well, about things that don't matter. Important things about the afterlife they can't divulge, truths or lies. Why? You talk to any spirits lately?"

Robin shrugs. "Maybe. And just fair warning, my name's all over that trophy. Let me know if either of you two find a small computer piece," he concludes, moving out of the room before more questions surface.

Rose snickers, shaking her head. She fishes for the nanochip from her belt and looks at Kid Devil. "Table tennis and undead spirits, and this is on a boring weekend. God, I fucking love this gig."

Kid Devil rolls his eyes. "Robin's not going to undress you in exchange for that chip."

"Ye of little faith," comes the Kid's answer. "Teach me tennis and _you_ can undress me."

"There's a happy ending," Kid Devil grins. "Let's go."

And they do.


End file.
